


Let Me Tell You

by Deejaymil



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Crossover, Family Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humans as Pokemon, Origin Story, Original Pokemon Region, Pokemon Training, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deejaymil/pseuds/Deejaymil
Summary: Hotch smiled. “No,” he said, and brushed his hand against his belt where five Pokéballs hung reassuringly from the six pockets set into the thick leather. “I wasn’t alone. I had my team.”“Your… team?” Jackson barked. “Your Pokémon? That wild, undertrained, uncontrolled bunch of—”“My team.” Hotch cut him off without hesitation. “If you doubt them, let me tell you about them.”





	1. Let Me Tell You

**Author's Note:**

> **=== The Now ===**

 “Agent Hotchner. We’re concerned about the reckless decision you made to walk alone—”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“—, unarmed—”

“I wasn’t unarmed.”

“—, and _without_ calling for backup into a location controlled by known hostiles! You could have been killed!”

Hotch didn’t flinch. He slid his gaze unerringly from one member of the board to another. Jackson, Harris, Strauss… one by one. He made sure they knew he wasn’t intimidated. Aaron Hotchner was many things, but rarely intimidated.

“It needed to be done,” he said finally, standing tall. Confident in his defence. “The members of the organization known as the Elite Four have been under investigation for years for their suspected inclusion in a series of brutal murders, the likes of which the members of this board have been sheltered from. They needed to be stopped.”

Strauss stood, her palm smacking the polished wood of the desk between them. At her feet, the Persian she kept by her side rose as well, black lips pulled back in a glistening warning. “And you decided that _you_ would be the hero that went in there alone?”

Hotch smiled. “No,” he said, and brushed his hand against his belt where five Pokéballs hung reassuringly from the six pockets set into the thick leather. “I wasn’t alone. I had my team.”

“Your… team?” Jackson barked. “Your Pokémon? That wild, undertrained, uncontrolled bunch of—”

“My team.” Hotch cut him off without hesitation. “If you doubt them, let me tell you about them.”


	2. Emily's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Emily overcompensates because she doesn't yet feel she is part of the team. She needn't worry.”_
> 
> ** **

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“Hello, pet. My, my, she’s looking a lot better than the last time I saw her.” The trainer they faced stood in the centre of the ice-strewn room, his expression as cold as the glistening metal floor beneath them. Hotch’s boots slid on the slick surface as he stepped out onto the battlefield, his face burning from the cold. Behind him, Dave’s claws clicked on the steel. Emily bristled at his side, arching her cream-white back and snarling deeply at the man awaiting them. Red glinted in her eyes, the metal hissing and spitting around her delicate paws as she heated the air around them and eased the bitter cold.

“Ian Doyle, you are under arrest for multiple counts of international Pokémon dealing and five counts of murder,” Hotch barked, sensing his team fanning out behind him, blocking the exit. “I don’t recommend putting up a fight.”

Emily growled louder.

_Ian Doyle AKA ‘Valhalla’_ , hummed a throaty voice deep in the back of Hotch’s mind. Spencer appeared with a _thwomp_ , hovering in the air just to the right of Hotch’s bicep with his shoulder bag hanging awkwardly from one side. The Abra was barely the length of Hotch’s arm, tail not included, but he didn’t need size when he had his mind. _IRA terrorist-turned-serial killer. Specializes in ice-types. Emily’s not a good choice here though, Hotch. Dual typing means that most of his Pokémon will negate her double ice damage with a resistant water typing._

“Heh.” Doyle shoved his hand into his pocket and withdrew a black and yellow great ball and spinning it on his fingers. “Is that _really_ why you’re here, Aaron? Because of a pesky thing like those international treaties? Or are you here because of… _her?_ Although I must say… I’m glad you taught that precocious little bitch how to be useful.”

Emily roared, fur and tails prickling, and lunged at Doyle. The great ball spun from his fingers, bursting into an undulating Dewgong that slammed to the ground in front of the slender Ninetales and rumbled out a booming call.

“She’ll be fine,” Hotch said, stepping onto the battlefield. Spencer tittered nervously, tail twitching. “She’s never been one to be told _no_.”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

“There’s been a mistake.” Hotch stared down at the Pokémon sulking on his coach, her red coat fluffed up with anger and two tails trembling angrily. “I didn’t approve this transfer.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” Strauss said. Dave slipped past, his talons scuffing the carpet in _just_ the way that Strauss hated and clicking his beak as if to say, _here we go again._ _Shut up_ _if you’re not going to be helpful,_ Hotch wanted to snap at the arrogant Pidgeot. “I’ll just leave you with your new team member, shall I?”

And then she was gone. Hotch looked down at the Vulpix that stared back without fear, deep russet eyes narrowed with mistrust. “Spencer, can you tell—” He paused, glancing to the intake paper file. Spencer appeared, obscuring the text as his front claws wrapped around the edge of the desk and he peeked over at the Vulpix.

_Her name is Emily,_ he sent helpfully, tail sweeping across the desk as he lost his balance and tumbled forward in a clatter of stationary before teleporting again to seat himself next to the fox Pokémon. _She says there’s been no mistake. She is supposed to begin with us today._

“I am sorry for the confusion, but you’ve been misinformed,” Hotch said stiffly to Emily, turning and walking out. “Excuse me. Come with me, Spencer.” Spencer followed, levitating himself after Hotch with the focus sash he’d turned into a makeshift tie tucked neatly into his sweater. The only Pokémon in the office who felt the need to _dress_ himself to his position. Besides Penelope, who dressed herself to… well, herself.

_I like her,_ Spencer piped up nervously, large ears flattening backwards. _I mean… she could be a good fit._

“No,” Hotch said. “And that’s final.” The last thing he needed was another unevolved, hot-headed member on his team. Not after Elle.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Reid whirled around Hotch as he tracked the Ninetales with his eyes, not showing any tension in his body language. The Dewgong reared, throwing Emily into shadow as it loomed overhead, ready to slam into the smaller creature with a bone-breaking **take-down**. Emily leapt back, agile even on the treacherous floor with her paws bloodied by the chips of ice scattered about from the Dewgong’s destructive aurora beam attacks. Faster than the unwieldy seal, she avoided the deadly **take-down** and landed with a satisfied huff out of shockwave range.

“Spencer,” Hotch said softly, pacing to the side to lock his gaze with Doyle’s. “Can she take a hit?”

Spencer rotated slowly in place, humming audibly while he communicated with his friend. _Yes,_ he responded finally, paws tucked against his chest as he curled into himself. Unhappy. **_Payback_** _?_

“ **Payback** ,” Hotch agreed, and Emily roared with triumph at his reluctant permission. Revenge was foremost on her mind, and he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by allowing her to extract it.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

Being in any room with Derek out of his Pokéball was always an experience. Especially when the rest of his team was crammed in there with them, all peering down at the glowing screen of the laptop Spencer was helpfully levitating at an angle that allowed the Chansey’s stubby arms to reach the keyboard easily, her fingers darting over the keys. Hotch leaned closer. From behind, a beak jabbed his shoulder. “Wait,” he ordered, hearing a huff in reply. The beak jabbed again. “Damnit, Dave, I said wait! Spencer, what’s he saying?”

The Abra looked up at Dave with his head tilted. _Ah. I don’t really… he says ‘no’._

Dave squalled angrily. “Did he really?” Hotch asked, hearing claws dragging against the carpet again. Derek turned his great head around to peer at them both, almost poking Hotch in the eye with his horn, _far_ too unwieldly to fit easily into the cupboard Penelope had claimed as her ‘tech space.’ Nidokings were many things but rarely ‘cupboard sized.’ At least JJ fit nicely; the Dragonair was curled neatly around the Nidoking’s wide shoulders with her narrow muzzle resting on Hotch’s other shoulder.

_I’m paraphrasing. The basic gist is ‘no.’_

Penelope trilled. As she craned her neck around to peer at him, the multiple beads and bangles decorating her jingled merrily, offsetting her pink fur with a multitude of colours. The laptop lifted slightly, a personnel file just visible from his angle.

_She’s from Interpol, joint with the CIA,_ Spencer said, startled, skittering up to stare at the screen. _Oh. Oh… they sent her undercover as a gift to an arms dealer… it… it didn’t go well, Hotch._

Hotch’s stomach twisted painfully. “He murdered her trainer,” he read from the screen, his fists clenching. “Used her as bait and then killed her trainer when he tried to rescue her…” Standing here, surrounded by his Pokémon, he knew only too well how some people could mistreat those they were supposed to protect. But that didn’t make it easier to swallow.

Spencer nodded sadly. _It’s very likely why she’s still undeveloped,_ he added. _Vulpixes form more tails as they grow to love their trainers. If Emily’s been abused, well… Dave says we should take her on._

“Why?” Hotch turned to face his first Pokémon, the giant bird renowned for his battle abilities within the FBI. Hotch wasn’t his first trainer, nor his greatest, and Dave _loved_ reminding him of this. “She’ll be skittish. Flighty. I’m not a therapist, Dave. I can’t take her on purely because she was harmed in the past, no matter how many of you make sad eyes at me about it.” At his words, Penelope and JJ both looked away guiltily.

A beat of silence, then, _He says because she has more potential than she knows,_ Spencer relayed. _She’s of the Ninetales evolutionary line, Hotch. It says the man who killed her trainer… he’s still out there._

“And?”

_Ninetales never forget when they’ve been wronged. And they never forgive._

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

They all winced when the **aurora beam** slammed into Emily’s flank in a fountain of rainbow heat, sending her hindquarters skidding out from under her and her body tumbling bonelessly to the ground. At Hotch’s hip, the three Pokéballs with Derek, JJ, and Penelope in them hummed with tension. By his arm, Spencer was frozen, muzzle tilted towards his friend.

Emily didn’t get up. Hotch stared.

_She said she could take it!_ Spencer breathed, almost quivering, flexing his claws out as though barely holding himself back from reaching out to the motionless creamy form on the metal floor.

And she didn’t get up.

The Dewgong readied another attack. It opened its mouth. Colour glittered within.

Hotch grabbed a Pokéball and readied it. Within the ball, Derek was furious and ready. “Yeah, well,” he said to Spencer, horror thudding through him. He should have _known_ she was lying. He should have known! “When has Emily ever admitted to needing help?”

The **aurora beam** hummed as the Pokéball left Hotch’s hand and—

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

He found Spencer sitting in the centre of his study, paws working busily over the odd machine Penelope had given them. Scattered around him were a ridiculous number of circular disks: some twisted and burnt, some cracked down the middle, some marred with scratches from his claws.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asked curiously, crouching to look. Spencer had worked out the TM maker months ago. Ever since, he’d managed to create a decent amount of training moves, even some for himself despite never battling.  It was probably really strange to have Pokémon that trained themselves, but Hotch didn’t really give a shit. He trusted his team. He trusted Spencer.

_Trying to make fire type moves,_ Spencer said after a long moment, his claws clicking on the small buttons as he entered endless streams of complicated mathematical equations into the flickering screen. _They’re fiddlier than ground types. More… reactive._

“Explosive, by the look of it,” Hotch commented, nudging a still-smouldering TM with his socked foot. “Why are you making fire moves? For Emily?”

Spencer nodded slowly, hunching into himself. _I thought maybe… she’d like them_ , he said finally, shyly, ears lowering.

Hotch smiled. “I think she’ll love them,” he replied, reaching down to scratch the Abra behind his wide ears right in the spot that always coaxed a low hum of contentment from the small Pokémon. And she did. But they only seemed to push her harder.

Three months later, he found Spencer perched on a fence post, watching in the gloomy dusk of a winter’s night as Emily spat an endless stream of fire at a target, dancing around it on her dark paws to avoid any splashback. Her tails flowed behind her, four where there had been two.

“How long has she been practising?” Hotch asked, leaning on the post. Spencer looked tired, drooping. Hotch sidled up behind him, letting the Pokémon lean back into his chest and relax into his arms.

_Hours_ , Spencer whispered. His tail waved slowly under him, the tip twitching. _Why does she drive herself so hard? She has us. She doesn’t need to be alone anymore._

Hotch wished he had an answer to that.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

—Emily rolled out of the way, her paws and eyes glimmering purple. The dark move she was calling upon roiled up and out of her very self, feeding on the damage she’d taken from the first blast and growing. She howled, the **payback** throbbing with the noise as it surged towards the Dewgong, slamming into it with all the force of the original beam combined with Emily’s anger and sending the beast rolling back along the ground.

**_Dark pulse_** _!_ Reid shouted. Derek roared in agreement, freed from his ball and poised with tension on the cusp of the battlefield. There was blood on the ice below Emily’s paws, blood on her white fur, her tails dragging low to the ground and fur bristling in a dark ridge along her spine. She looked demonic. Manic.

Dangerous.

On the ground around her, summoned by the angry psychic power of the Ninetales’ mind, bubbling circles made of purple-black light formed, gleaming sickly. They whirled around with Emily in the centre, feeding on her fury. They darkened. Tightened. She aimed, taking a single snarling step towards the wavering Dewgong. As though thrown, the circles vanished with a _snick_ and _snapped_ into creation again around the targeted Pokémon, bringing it down. The Dewgong screamed with pain; the dark billowed around it, pulsed once, twice, and—

—it vanished in a burst of sickly red as Doyle recalled it. Hotch allowed himself a smile.

_Fantastic, Emily!_ Reid cheered, pivoting in mid-air. A Jynx replaced the Dewgong, hissing grossly as it lowered itself to the ground and slithered towards the panting Ninetales.

As one, Spencer and Emily looked at each other. Both looked smug. “What is she planning?” Hotch asked, cocking an eyebrow at their delight.

**_Flare blitz_** , Spencer hummed with a whoop, and Emily barked along, flames flickering in her throat as she readied the move Spencer had made her so long ago. _Fuck yes!_

That last line was more Emily than Spencer, so Hotch allowed it.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

Emily was benched.

_Dave wants me to tell you that you might be overreacting a little,_ Spencer was relaying, looking supremely uncomfortable at being stuck between the angry Hotch and the equally angry Dave. _Oh… he says I’m not allowed to paraphrase. His exact words were… ‘tell Aaron to get the, um, goddamn stick out of his goddamn ass and apologise to her.’ Sorry, Hotch._

Hotch seethed, hiding his anger by turning his back to them and busying himself with straightening the paperwork on his desk. “Tell him the day he’s Team Leader, _he_ can decide the proper disciplinary action for a team member putting herself in danger unduly.”

_Well… it wasn’t really unduly…_ Reid hummed, tapping his claw against his foot. _She thought JJ was cornered. And Dave says to tell you that he can hear you, he’s old, not deaf. Oh. He didn’t say old. He said ‘older’. There’s a difference, apparently._

“She’s sidelined and that’s final,” Hotch ordered, turning on the two bickering Pokémon. They both quietened; Spencer cowering at his rare show of temper and Dave silencing with a _snick_ of his beak snapping shut. “I don’t want her in the field until she follows procedure.” When he looked again, feeling almost guilty for yelling, the Pokémon were gone. He closed his eyes. _Damn_. Shouting… hadn’t been the plan. It wasn’t their fault, he’d just… he’d just had the shit scared out of him, seeing the wild Onix bearing down on the obscenely tiny Vulpix, ignoring her ineffective attempts at using **ember** to protect herself. If it hadn’t been for Derek **roaring** …

_Hotch?_ Spencer was at the door, peering around with barely the tips of his ears showing. _Would you be this mad if it was Derek or JJ in the path of that Onix today?_ Hotch didn’t answer, not immediately. The problem with psychic Pokémon was that there was no lying to them. The downside of having Spencer’s genius on the team. But his silence was answer enough. Spencer nodded slowly. Hotch could practically hear the cogs in his brain ticking as he puzzled that over. _If it was me?_

“It wouldn’t _be_ you,” Hotch snapped, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re not that stupid. You know your limits.”

Spencer’s muzzle wrinkled. _So, it’s her limitations that bother you…_ He hummed once, tapped his claws on the doorframe, and vanished with a _whoomph._

And that was the last they saw of him for two weeks.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“Are you really going to continue using a fire type against me?” Doyle spun his last Pokéball in his palm, eyes darting to the exit. Hotch jerked his head in an unspoken command, and Dave took off with a flurry of feathers and a low _kee-yaah_ to block the door. The ball in Doyle’s hands burst open with a cavernous growl, a Lapras landing heavily and skidding sideways towards the winded Ninetales. Emily’s sides heaved with exertion, sweat foamy on her flanks and her eyes wide with strain. But Hotch didn’t call her back. He watched her carefully as her lips twitched back, curled, showing delicate white fangs and a pink tongue that darted along them.

She needed this.

“Yes.” Hotch was blunt and allowed his hatred to show. For everything this man had done to Emily. For everything he’d done to everyone he’d ever harmed. This one time, Hotch allowed his voice to carry across the battlefield instead of using Spencer to mask his intentions. “Doyle. Last chance. Surrender.”

Doyle laughed. “Use **hydro pump** ,” he said coldly to the Lapras, who opened its mouth to oblige. “And… aim for the trainer. Let’s see how well she takes losing another. Just like Clyde.” There was a surge of noise as every one of Hotch’s loose Pokémon roared in fury at the threat, but he flicked his hand at them, a command they all knew. They froze.

“Emily,” he murmured, and the Ninetales readied herself. They trusted him. Unconditionally. “ **Incinerate**.”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

JJ alerted him. He was sitting on the foot of his bed with his head in his hands, lost and helpless to find his missing Pokémon. Two weeks. Two weeks Spencer had been gone, and they had bypassed frantic and gone on to numb. Dave spent hours flying over the country, his keen eyes scanning every road and tree for any sign of their friend. JJ did the same, spiralling through the air and trilling. Penelope combed the internet for any sightings of an Abra in a sweater vest and tie: checking security cameras, police reports, Pokémon forums, morgues…

Derek paced. Paced and paced and paced and refused to talk to Hotch beyond a furious grunt when the trainer walked into the room. They blamed him.

So they should.

And Emily… when Spencer hadn’t come home that night, she’d vanished too. Looking for him. Hotch had almost gone mad knowing they were both out there: two unevolved Pokémon, one low-levelled, untrained in battle… but she’d come back. Alone. And then done it again the next night, and every night since. She wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating, her russet fur dulling with exhaustion. They couldn’t keep this up. He had to tell them to stop pushing themselves so hard. But he knew that wasn’t how they’d take it. They’d think he was telling them to stop looking. To give up.

Those were his thoughts when JJ burst through the window, whistling in fear with her blue scales rippling in bursts of white panic as lightning danced over them. Outside, clouds brewed, sensing her terror. He couldn’t understand her, not without Spencer there—and there was another thing he was horrified to realize, how much he’d taken their friend for granted—but he could understand this well enough.

_We found him!_ she was crying with every iota of her delicate body, and he ran. Leapt down the stairs of the home he shared with them, burst out the door, sprinted down the gravelled drive towards the small figure limping along the roadside, head bowed and tail dragging. Not teleporting.

“Spencer!” Hotch shouted and skidded to his knees in front of his Pokémon, as undone as he’d ever been around them. The Abra, shivered, slowing, paws cupped in front and hugging his bunched-up sweater to himself. “Where _were_ you? We were… worried.” Hotch winced, straightening. Put back on the ‘Hotch’ mask instead of the ‘frantic trainer’ one. Derek bounded up behind on all fours, shaking the ground with his bulk and Penelope on his back. JJ loomed overhead. Nearby, Dave watched silently. Emily slunk towards them, her belly low to the ground.

Spencer ignored them all, limping his way towards Emily and holding out the bundled sweater. There was soot on his fur, grazes and bumps all over his arms and head, a tattered scratch across one ear. _Here_ , he said, his voice a faint whisper. _Found it for you._

Emily stared as the fire stone rolled from the wool, clattering to the ground between them. Heat billowed from it, and her as her body reacted to it, trying to coax her closer. They all froze. They all watched.

“Spencer…” Hotch breathed, stepping forward. Evolutionary stones were rare. Insanely rare. To find one he would have had to delve into the darkest parts of volcanic caves, where no trainers dared to venture. “Why?”

Spencer’s shoulder bowed forwards, as though pushed towards the ground by the weight of his worries. His next words were for Hotch alone: _You’ll always see her as limited so long as she’s unevolved. And she’s not. She’s powerful… she needs to be powerful to earn her place on this team._

“That’s not true.” Hotch crouched next to the youngest of his team, too tense to reach out to brush the strain from the little Pokémon’s shoulders, too wary of his injuries to try. “She’ll always have a place on this team.” Emily’s eyes darted to him and back to the stone. Longing.

_Maybe it’s not true…_ Reid said eventually. _But she believes it is. And a part of you does too._

Hotch stared at him. Then at the stone. Then, finally, at Emily. 

And he nodded. Not for himself. No… he believed what he’d said. No matter what she was, Emily had earned her place with them. But he also knew she wanted this.

She reached a paw to the stone.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“Are you okay?” he murmured to Emily as they walked from the room where Doyle had met his end. Hotch felt no grief for him. He’d seen the trail of shattered lives the man had left. The only grief he felt was that the man would never stand in front of a jury and face justice for his crimes.  Emily nodded, bulky mane shifting with the movement. She looked exhausted.

Hesitating for only a second, he let his hand slip down to rest on her fluffy shoulders. She tensed and then relaxed, leaning into the touch. “You did fantastic,” he told her, completely truthfully. “I’m proud of you.”

He always would be.


	3. Derek & Penelope’s Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Derek fought to protect his identity from the very creatures who could save him. Why? Because trust has to be earned, and there are very few creatures he truly trusts. Penelope fills her life with figurines and colour to remind herself to smile despite the horrors we see.”_

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Derek scented their quarry first. Hotch felt him bristle, heard the tiles crack ominously under his massive paws, and then the Nidoking surged ahead in a blur of purple-plated armoured hide, bellowing with rage.

_Uh oh,_ Spencer hummed, darting forward and hesitating, torn between chasing the enraged Pokémon and staying by his trainer’s side. On his shoulder, his bag bumped against his hip, the Pokémon seized from Doyle clattering around in their Pokéballs. They, at least, would have a better life from today onwards, even if this raid resulted in the end of Hotch and his team’s careers. _Ah. Ah. Ah, Hotch? What do we do?_

“JJ,” Hotch barked, and the Dragonair rocketed past in a long line of sinuous blue. “Don’t let him engage! I don’t want him battling Buford!”

_Kyree_ , whistled JJ back, vanishing with a crackle around the corner. Hotch sprinted after her, Spencer zipping between his sprinting trainer and the limping Emily struggling to keep up.

“Damnit,” Hotch muttered. They hadn’t had time to heal her yet. He’d been about to and then—this. Pokéball in hand, he turned and jogged backwards as he held it out. “Sorry, Emily.” The Ninetales huffed, hunching, and vanished in a burst of red as he recalled her and tucked her onto his belt next to Penelope. Then, he and Spencer turned and raced for their friend, hoping they’d be in time to stop him from doing something stupid.

They weren’t.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

The arrest of the notorious hacker known only to their taskforce as ‘The Black Egg’ went… strangely. Hotch was used to strange, seeing as he lived with a telepathic Abra with a fondness for ties and sweater vests and a Pidgeot he was pretty sure was secretly writing a book when Hotch wasn’t looking, but even this mildly startled him.

“Why is this Chansey black?” he asked. The Chansey sulked in the holding cell, paws folded over her empty pouch and pink fur… not pink. Not pink at all. Guarding her, a heavy-set Nidorino hulked in the corner, easily twice the size of any Nidorino Hotch had ever seen before, a Chicago PD badge hanging from his huge neck. Spencer flickered past, teleporting through the bars and popping into existence upside-down overhead of the Chansey to peer down curiously at her.

“No idea,” the sergeant said with a shrug. “Guess her trainer thought it was a good idea. Damned if I know though. All our intel said we were arresting _The_ Black Egg. Not her Pokémon.”

The Chansey made an angry noise, followed by a rumble from the Nidorino. “Shut up, Derek!” snapped the sergeant at the large creature in the holding cell. “Well, I’ll let you get what info you can from here and then she’s off to the centre. Can’t let her loose. God knows what she’s seen.”

_Um,_ said Spencer, slowly reorientating himself with his tail between his paws, an anxious trait he’d lost when he was a pup and Hotch was slightly disconcerted to see returning. _We have a problem, Hotch._ Hotch leaned against the bars, looking down at the Chansey. Things weren’t looking good for it. If they put restrictions on her transferral to a new trainer…

She’d spend the rest of her life in a PC Box. Nothing but data.

“Does she know where her trainer is?” he asked the Abra. “If we can find The Black Egg, we can probably get her a deal. The info for a new trainer, or a release.” Spencer opened his eyes. Hotch blinked. They were wide, black, and absolutely stunned. It was a bizarre enough look on the Abra’s kite-shaped head that he knew whatever his Pokémon was going to say next, he probably wasn’t going to like it.

_That’s the problem,_ said Spencer, blinking. _She says she **is** The Black Egg. This Chansey is our hacker._

“ _Cheee_ ,” trilled the Chansey.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Too late.

“You know the rules of battle, Agent Hotchner,” Buford said, backing away from the Dragonair that circled furiously around him. Protecting its trainer, an Onix loomed, threatening the slim dragon Pokémon if she moved closer. “Your Nidoking entered the field first. He battles alone. It’s my right as a trainer.”

“You don’t deserve any rights,” Hotch snapped, furious with Derek and furious with the cocky trainer that stood in front of them. “You lost the right to any kind of _honour_ twelve years ago when you tried to pin the murder of those boys on Derek. That’s over now, Buford. We have enough evidence now that you’ll be going away for a very long time for their deaths.” Derek bellowed, the sound rattling the rocky walls hard enough that Hotch heard the foundations groan.

“You’re mistaken,” Buford replied quietly, removing a Pokéball from his belt. “Derek killed those boys and you were wrong to defend him. Your Abra was too young to truth-say in that case, and you knew that.”

“No more hiding behind Victory Road’s glory,” Hotch said firmly, glancing up at Spencer. Spencer nodded, turning his snout towards Derek. Now, they only needed to hope the Nidoking wasn’t too enraged to listen… “JJ, come back. Buford, this ends now.”

_He uses fighting types, which have a statistical average of high attack above one-hundred and seventeen EVs. Derek’s high defence should safeguard him. I recommend a quick offence before he can build damage—they have low defence and tend to fall quickly to super-effective moves. **Earthquake**?_

“ **Earthquake** ,” Hotch agreed.

Derek reared, and the battle began. It was up to him now. Hotch had to trust him.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

_He didn’t do it!_ Spencer actually barked with distress, a husky _brak_ that Hotch twitched to hear from the usually—out loud, anyway—silent Pokémon. _Hotch tell them, he didn’t kill those boys. He swears he didn’t—he’s not lying!_

The room of police surged with activity. Pokémon snarled, people shouted, and in the middle of it was the Nidorino from earlier, looking around frantically with his legs bound and a wire muzzle over his wide mouth.

_The penalty for murdering a human is death, Hotch,_ Spencer was wailing, his eyes open again and gleaming purple with spill-over from his psychic energy. _Whoever did kill those boys—they’re **framing** him._

It was a risky move. Standing up for a Pokémon that wasn’t his, a Pokémon big enough and dangerous enough that not a single person in this room doubted the poisoned boys had met their end at the end of his horn?

Career suicide.

_Aaron, please! This isn’t fair. They’re using a profile to justify their tunnel vision—they’re using **our** profile!_

“He didn’t do it,” Hotch said, striding forward to take his place, alone, next to the shivering Nidorino. “My Abra swears by it. Get a judge’s Alakazam in here—they’re both telling the truth. Why hasn’t there been any due process? He’s entitled to a defence.”

“He’s a murdering bastard,” Gordinski snapped, his red face growing redder at Hotch’s calm defence. “Always knew he had it in him. Nasty. Real temper. You’re not involved in this, Agent Hotchner. Take your Chansey and we’ll deal with the beast. That Abra’s just a pup! It’s too young for this.”

Hotch hesitated. He didn’t really have any jurisdiction.

“Do you know who killed them?” he asked the Nidorino. The Nidorino eyed him, scanned the room, and then… nodded. His sides heaved under their scarred purple plating, huge ears flattening back against his back and quivering with anticipation. “Will you tell me? Or my Abra?”

The Nidorino nodded again.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Buford recalled the fainted form of his Hitmonchan, face expressionless. “Is this how he repays me?” he asked quietly, replacing the Pokéball in his belt and withdrawing another. Derek settled back on his hind-legs, waiting calmly. Not a hint of his earlier rage showed on his demeanour. “I pulled him out of the gutter when he was nothing but street trash. A wild Nidorino desperate for a trainer and willing to do anything to gain one. I made him what he is.”

“You extorted him for money,” Hotch replied, walking along the edge of the battlefield, carefully on the outside. He didn’t want to be in the way of Derek’s more explosive abilities. “Pit battling? And when those boys found out you’d taken their Pokémon for your activities…”

_He used the venom he’d already gathered from Derek while Derek was under his trainership to kill them and frame him… be careful, Hotch. He shows no remorse. No regret. He’s not going to let us corner him._

“Am I not atoning for what may or may not have happened in my quest to make life _better_ for my neighbourhood?” Buford snapped, cracking open a new Pokéball. The Machamp bounded out, silent and fixated on Derek, his body just as scarred as Derek’s had been when he’d chosen to join Hotch. “Twelve years stuck on this godforsaken fucking mountain all because your Pokémon forgot everything I’d ever done for him and named me a _murderer_? Because he forgot what I made of him?”

Hotch felt the dark expression settle on his face; saw Buford recoil slightly. “He made himself,” he corrected the man, anger settling deep into his veins and making his blood run hot. “Everything he is today, he is because he _chose_ to be. Just like you chose to be a murderer.”

_Derek says… he says Carl has everything to do with who he is today,_ Spencer said suddenly, and the Nidoking turned to look at them both. _Oh… and that’s why we’re taking him in alive. To face justice._

Hotch smiled. This. This was why he trusted his team.

“Let’s get on with it then. We’re not done yet.”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

_They’ll never arrest Buford,_ Spencer was saying glumly, for once perched bird-like on Hotch’s shoulder instead of levitating after him in a ball of ungainly limbs and paws. He was light enough that Hotch barely noted he was there. _He’s too well renowned. Too many friends in high places. The Elite Four will protect him._

Hotch ignored him. His eyes were on the slouched form of the Nidorino outside the precinct, staring morosely at the road. At Hotch’s belt, the four Pokéballs containing those of his team who permitted themselves to be contained hung heavy along with the new pink ball containing the Chansey who’d had absolutely nowhere else to go. Nearby, the Nidorino’s trainer was smoking, his back turned to the miserable Pokémon. Hotch wasn’t a charity.

But this wasn’t charitable. If Derek belonged on their team, they’d know soon enough.

_What are you doing?_ asked Spencer as they walked towards the Nidorino. _What are we doing?_

“You were used in pit battles, before joining the PD,” Hotch said, and the Nidorino looked at him as if to say _who, me?_ Not many Pokémon were used to being spoken to so bluntly. Hotch wasn’t used to pretending they were stupid, when they were anything but. “So, you know how to battle?” A slow nod. The trainer glanced at them, uninterested. “You’ll obey my command and those of my Pokémon who outrank you? That means you obey the commands of my Abra, despite his age and despite any reservations you may have about his battle prowess—and you’ll obey them without question?”

The Nidorino’s eyes widened. Another nod, twice as slow. _Are you…_ whispered Spencer, ears perking up with excitement. 

“Okay.” Hotch looked at the trainer, who only now was walking towards them, looking pissed off. “If Derek chooses to come with me—to join my team—you won’t stop him.”

The trainer spluttered. “Like hell I won’t—” he began, and Hotch silenced him with a glare. At his hip, the snap release within one of the Pokéballs triggered, Dave bursting out onto the street with a shriek of glee at being allowed to cause havoc, wings stirring the wind up warningly. Trash and dust kicked up around them.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Hotch finished mildly, and turned and walked away. After a beat, Derek followed. Dave looked almost disappointed when the trainer let them go.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

 “You know, the only reason I made it up here at all was because you were wrong to trust him,” Buford pointed out, barely audible over the sound of the Nidoking grappling with the Onix attempting to **bind** him in its rocky lengths. “You could have arrested me years ago.” That was true. But it was also an attempt to divide them; a clumsy one. Hotch ignored it.

Spencer hummed worriedly. _He’s a little bit right,_ he whispered, watching Derek throw the Onix away from him, following with a **sludge bomb** that hissed and spat as it touched the Onix and the rock around it. _Derek didn’t trust us enough to say that Buford was using his venom…_

“It doesn’t matter,” Hotch reassured him, tracing his thumb over Emily’s Pokéball and feeling the reassuring warmth of her flames within. He’d have Penelope heal her as soon as this battle was over. “He trusts us now. He always will. Buford can’t change that.”

Spencer landed on his shoulder, an almost uncomfortable weight now. Hotch remembered when he was smaller, when this was far easier, and tried not to smile at the memory.  “Hey,” he said, nudging Spencer with his hand. “What we’re doing here today… it’s good, Spence. It should have been done a long time ago. No one else will suffer at the hands of these monsters… and we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.”

The Abra beamed.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Hotch padded through it in socked feet, toothbrush in one hand. It was ridiculously early Sunday morning… which meant that Dave should be kicking up a ruckus complaining that Hotch hadn’t left any food within easy reach of his wings, JJ should be whirling around singing merrily to herself and enjoying the respite from the horrors of their workweek, Derek should be working out in the mini-battle ground outside, Penelope would probably be _helping_ Dave get breakfast, and both Spencer and Elle should be huddled in their rooms under a multitude of blankets trying to pretend that morning was just an awful, awful lie.

Instead, he found them in a jumble around the Abra on the living room floor. A bowl of soggy sugared cereal sat forgotten next to Spencer’s side, the muted TV playing cartoons behind them, and Hotch was reminded again just how _young_ Spencer was.

“What’s that?” he asked, staring at the strange machine in Spencer’s hands. There was silence as half the team looked at him, and the other half continued staring at the machine as it whirred and spat out a disk into Spencer’s wide paw. Elle barked, mane bristling, the lithe Growlithe startled by the sudden noise. Penelope reached over, whistling, and tapped at the display. Spencer nodded, following her directions.

_It’s a technical machine maker,_ Spencer said finally, seemingly realizing he was being spoken to. _Penelope brought it with her. It makes moves, Hotch! I mean, it’s complicated but… mostly math. I think I can work it. Elle says I’m gonna be a Pokémon training Pokémon._ His snout wrinkled. _I don’t think I’m allowed to be that._

Hotch smiled as a growl rolled around the room from the rest of their team at Spencer’s concern. “You be whatever the hell you want to be,” he assured the Abra, and left them to it.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Procedure said that he shouldn’t be assigning this duty to the Pokémon with a history with the man. Hotch’s beliefs said that he should assign it to the right Pokémon for the job.

“We’re not leaving here until this entire organization is disassembled from the inside out,” Hotch said firmly to his Pokémon, ignoring Buford’s low noise of displeasure from where he was handcuffed and pinned to the ground by one of Derek’s huge hind paws. Penelope hummed at his side, her **healing pulse** radiating over the collective team, Emily relaxing into the soothing touch. “Derek… guard him until we come back?” It wasn’t just him trusting Derek with this. It was Derek trusting him to return as well.

The Nidoking’s muzzle turned up into a smile. He nodded.

_He says don’t take too long,_ Spencer translated. _He wants to home in time for Dave’s soaps. Says he forgot to set the DVR to record them._ Dave squalled angrily. Hotch sighed, walking away. He trusted them to follow.

Two down.


	4. JJ’s Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Every day, JJ has to balance her duty to herself and her duty to her team, and every night she goes home hoping she's made the right choices.”_

**> >> The Battle >>>**

The third member of the Elite Four was a mystery. They knew he was a monster. They knew he was cruel. They knew nothing else except the vivid memories of the videos and passages he had taunted them with.

They walked silently into the pitch black room. Dave’s talons tapped on the floor as he hissed into the dark; Hotch could just barely see the yellow of his crest from the pale glow cast from the orbs around JJ’s tail and neck as she whirled in lazy, worried circles around them. Emily walked by his side sedately, spitting globes of flames ahead to light their way and her coat almost luminescent. Penelope, he kept in her ball. She wasn’t a battler, she never would be, and panic could be contagious. Spencer pressed close to Hotch’s back, clinging with claws that pinched, and Hotch could feel him shivering as he pressed his muzzle into Hotch’s shoulder blade. Some fears, even time had failed to fade.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

They thought they finally had a scent on the man known as ‘Raphael’. So far, he’d been a ghost. Slipping into his victim’s homes with his subordinate partner. The partner would call for help as Raphael murdered the occupants.

Help was never in time.

And Hotch was _done_ cleaning up after him.

“The trail leads into the woods,” barked one of the officers, and Hotch was already sprinting for his vehicle. “Agent Hotchner—what are you doing?”

Around the car, his Pokémon clustered. Dave already had his harness out, the leather creaking and buckles clicking as Spencer hesitantly levitated it into place. With a burst of white, Elle appeared next to them, nostrils flaring red as she scented the air with her eyes burning.

“We follow you,” Hotch ordered her, and she tilted her head towards the scent. “You won’t be alone. Spencer will be behind you, and we’ll be right above. Do you think you can follow him?”

Elle, if anything, was supremely cocky. Her response was a confident bark as she expanded her barrel chest out with pride. Time to test the myth: growlithes never give up a scent.  

_It’s dark_ , Spencer said uncertainly, looking up into the roiling clouds above, his ears flat and fur ruffled by the wind that buffeted his small body. _There’s a storm coming. Dave is a diurnal species…_

“He can do it,” Hotch said firmly, checking every buckle of the harness twice before slipping onto the bird’s wide back and settling between the huge shoulder blades. “Can you, Elle?” He needed to know now, before they hit the forest alone, chasing a monster.

She bowed with a baying howl and shot towards the forest. A challenge. He didn’t know her as well as the others yet, but he knew her well enough to know she’d rise to any challenge he gave her.

Dave rocketed into the air with a _kee-yah_ that had every Pokémon barking in response, already moving impossibly fast. Hotch coughed, pressing down against the warm feathers with his hands numb already from the stinging wind that bit into his skin and eyes. “Dave, **fly**!” he shouted, voice torn away by the wind, and swore he felt the bird cackle.

If Reid had of been here, not zipping below as a purple glow that teleported from midpoint to midpoint trailing the tracking Growlithe, Hotch imagined he would have translated something along the lines of, _just showing you who’s boss… Boss._

The move kicked in as Dave straightened, his wings clapping loudly as they whupped the air into a frenzy around them. Pidgeots were among the fastest creatures in the sky; a human trying to fly one without the protection of the Pokémon having learned **fly** would blinded by the force of the wind and torn from their back, harness or no harness.

“There,” Hotch said, leaning on the harness to illustrate his point, and they fell into a slow descent, evening out to follow the glinting purple light of Spencer marking their way. “Steady. Keep them in sight.”

Dave squalled, the sound loud now that **fly** allowed them to speak without the wind ripping any vocalizations away. _I know how to do my job_ , that sound meant, and Hotch didn’t need Spencer to translate _that_. The sun dipped, vanishing behind the horizon. As high as they were, they were able to enjoy the last few rays, even as the forest below turned black and foreboding. Dave hummed, the sound reverberating up through Hotch’s thighs. It was a worried sound and the Pidgeot’s eyes were locked on the blinking purple of Spencer as the Abra darted ahead.

“Keep up with him,” Hotch goaded his oldest Pokémon, leaning his knees into his back. For once the bird didn’t sass him. Just sped up, his wings stroking the air, and that was when the purple blinked once, twice, and vanished. They paused. Dave’s head swivelled, eyes ringed with white as he reacted to the failure of Spencer to continue marking their way. Hotch kept calm. He’d reappear. Of course he would.

But he didn’t.

Below them, Elle began to howl.

They dived.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

The walls whispered to them. The darkness bulged, bubbling and rippling as unseen bodies shifted through it. Emily’s eyes were huge, the only sign of her distress, her breathing still even. Spencer whimpered very softly. Dave was silent. JJ responded only by funnelling more power into the orbs around her neck, lighting a circle of blue around them.

Unlike Emily, they’d seen this all before.

“Easy, easy,” Hotch murmured to both her and the quietly panicking Spencer. It was times like this he itched for a sixth ball at his waist. Every trainer knew; once the Pokémon started panicking, withdraw them. No battler recovered from panic on the field.

But Spencer wasn’t a battler, and Hotch respected him too much to recall him without his permission.

_Ghost types,_ Spencer said suddenly, his tail wrapping tight around Hotch’s bicep. _I can… I sense nothing. Not nothing as in there’s nothing there… I sense the inherent absence of **anything**_ **.**

Not Dave then. The Pidgeot seemed unconcerned by this.

“JJ,” he murmured, and felt Spencer twitch with concern. “Keep ready.”

_Emily’s special defence is higher and ghost types are primarily special attackers,_ Spencer protested, only ever outspoken when he was worried about JJ. He needn’t be. JJ had long proven herself on the battlefield, over and over, and she wasn’t the same barely evolved Dragonair they’d encountered so long ago.

“Emily’s already battled today. JJ is fresh.”

_But…_

The darkness cut him off, surging from the ground barely a foot ahead, snuffing out Emily’s flames with a hissing _fsst_ as it shaped and reformed as a man. Barely a man.

“Welcome to our home,” said the man with a crooked, wild smile, and the darkness around him clung and twisted until it was hard to tell where gloom ended and man began. “We have come in our glory to reward each of you accordingly… I promise you. None who stand here will taste death until this is so.” His body twisted, the Gengar bursting from his torso with a rush of black and purple smoke, its mouth gaping hungrily.

JJ spiralled, snow flurrying around her, and threw herself into the fray without hesitation. Giving no sign that this creature had almost defeated her before.

Just as courageous as the last time.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

Thunder boomed overhead as they landed. Hotch leapt from Dave’s back to sprint to the furious form of the Growlithe, fire sparking from her fur as she leapt up at them, barking. Lightning followed and Hotch inwardly cursed. Grounded. They couldn’t fly in that.

“Where’s Spencer?” he shouted, and the Growlithe turned in two tight, helpless circles. Without Spencer here, she was mute. Hotch felt disconnected, panicked, his hands bunching into his pockets. _How?_ How had something gotten the jump on him?

If he’d teleported away in a panic… he wouldn’t have left a scent to follow.

“Come on!” he ordered, and the wind kicked up with a howl. “Track as best as you can—before the rain comes!”

And they ran. Dave dipped through the tight trees, showing his skill in a rare show of agility as his massive wingspan somehow carried him through the tiniest gaps. Hotch was slower than his two Pokémon. Slower and easier winded, and they left him behind alone in the trees as the rain began to beat down on them.

“Damn,” Hotch breathed, cursing his recklessness. He should have checked the weather. Should have stayed closer to Spencer. The rain crippled Elle, the lightning crippled Dave, and Spencer was too damn young for the field, his only move **teleport**. “Damn, _shit_ , damn.”

At least Dave wasn’t here to hear him cuss. He could just hear Gideon’s voice now. _Overconfident, rash. Your team isn’t balanced. It’s a team of sweepers with no defence. Glass cannons, Hotshot, that’s what we call your team. Dave is powerful—but he won’t carry you if he doesn’t respect you._

A howl ahead and a burst of flame that was almost immediately dampened by the rain. He sprinted to it. Hair flat to his head, shaking water from his eyes, clothes flapping wetly, he almost came out on top of Elle. She was barking at the river roaring ahead, her fur sticking up in jagged spikes and **ember** guttering between her jaws. Any flames she spat, the rain consumed.

_Keee-yaw_ , squalled Dave, his wings stirring the water into a tempest as he dived at a purple form that bubbled and oozed in an amorphous mass on the riverbank, as though it was devouring the ground beneath. As soon as he touched it, the purple mass slashed back, eyes appearing as black voids within. The Pidgeot’s attack did nothing.

“Ghost type,” Hotch hollered, seeing the barest flicker of golden-brown fur within the mass as it reacted to Dave’s attempts to battle it. _Spencer!_ He looked around, grabbed a branch. There was no fighting it, but if he could just pull his Pokémon free, he could run—

The thunder rolled closer. Lightning glittered above, sparking along the river as the waves rippled, surged, and surged from the water as a pale blue glimmering form that seemed almost made of the storm itself. Hotch realized what the creature was going to do before it did it, wrenching a Pokéball from his belt and hurling it at Dave; recalling the Pidgeot moments before **lightning** hit the ground next to the ghost. The ghost skittered to the side, hissing, revealing the slumped form of the Abra below. Motionless. Hotch ran forward, ignoring the dangerous crackle of lightning as the new Pokémon readied another blast.

Blue dashed past, whirling around the Abra and vanishing. The ghost shrieked, reached, and **lightning** struck again—this time slamming home. Hotch felt the ground shudder below him, his feet torn out from under him from the impact, seeing the sky drift by above him in a strange weightless moment until he smashed into the wet ground on his back, the air torn from his lungs. Blinking, wheezing, he rolled and staggered up. The ghost was gone, as was the new, unknown Pokémon.

But so was Spencer.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Water heaved from the ground. JJ reeled through it, as though guiding the torrent with her body, mouth gaping and orbs throbbing with light as she used them to steer **surf**. The Gengar rattled out a gasp as the deluge hammered it; JJ waited until **surf** had covered the ghost before eddying straight into a **blizzard** attack and blowing back the Gengar’s poison attack in a gust of icy wind that froze the water around the ghost and crushed it. The ghost vanished. The ice melted and pooled off the side of the platform they were standing on, the edges almost invisible without the light of JJ’s attacks. JJ settled on the ground between Hotch and the silent trainer. His eyes were empty, his face expressionless, as he pulled forth another Pokéball.

“The sky will darken and the moon will give forth no light,” he murmured, and a Golbat appeared from the ball, shrieking an unearthly noise as it faced JJ down. “The stars will fall from the sky and the heavenly bodies give forth no light… stand down, Aaron Hotchner, for Raphael has come to earth.”

Hotch frowned. “Are you Raphael?” he asked carefully.

The man’s eyes shuttered. “I am revelations,” he said, bowing his head. “I am flawed. And I am… the end of you. Gengar, **hypnosis**.”

He should have been prepared. _Wait, Gengar?_ Spencer asked, stiffening. _That’s a Gol—argh!_

The move hit him first. He dropped like a stone, tumbling limply from Hotch’s shoulder. Hotch grabbed at him, trying to turn to face the attacking ghost at the same time as the world pulsated around them, dragging him down, but his hands fumbled and his feet wobbled and he was sinking, falling, Dave falling with him. Emily was already on the ground, curled in a ball, eyes slipping shut. JJ burst past with a scream, furious that the Gengar had dared to attack her trainer, ignoring the Golbat that spat **toxic** bursts of poison at her back, splattering from her spine.

Hotch blinked. His eyes opened. Spencer was in front of him, his slight body twitching as he struggled to fight the attack and crawl away from the Gengar before it could hit him with a super effective **night shade** attack.

It would be an instant KO if it did.

Hotch reached for him—

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

It wasn’t hard to follow the path the fleeing Pokémon had made through the forest; a trail of snapped branches and torn up dirt where it had thrashed in a panic at being pursued by the ghost type. Even in the rain without Elle scenting, it was an easy trail. It curled around back towards the river where the beast had originally surged up from, and Hotch’s heart hammered in his throat as they broke from the undergrowth and found themselves enclosed in a bubble of clear weather, the rain streaming overhead as though someone had flipped a bowl over the quiet shoreline, sheltering them. The shore sloped smoothly into calm water, broken only by clods of mud and dirt where something had slammed into the ground and rolled into the river. Empty space, except for the bank, where Spencer was on all fours and leaning curiously over with his nose almost touching the still surface.

“Spencer,” Hotch breathed, and jogged to his Pokémon, relief slamming into him and leaving him shaking as the tension dissipated. The Abra looked battered but unafraid, eyes open wide and reflecting the water.

_Shh_ , Spencer sent, and Hotch froze five steps behind him. _She’s scared. You scared her._

The water bubbled. A slim nose broke from it, serpentine, followed by huge blue eyes. The two Pokémon stared at each other, both frozen with surprise at their proximity.

_Hi, hi, hello,_ Spencer said suddenly, muzzle curling up into a smile and eyes closing once more. His ears flicked, perking forwards. _You saved me. Thank you._ The Dragonair slipped out the water, long and thin and skittish as anything, tapped her nose once against Spencer’s snout, and vanished back into the river with a trilling call. _Oh._ Spencer looked disappointed. _Why didn’t she stay?_

Hotch crouched, picking him up and hugging the young Pokémon close, tucking his damp jacket around him and letting him snuggle close against his warm chest. “She’s a Dragonair,” he answered, wonderingly. “They’re shy and rare and they don’t like humans. You should feel grateful to have seen one at all.”

_Aw. I know. Just over a thousand of her evolutionary line in the wild, with less than sixty registered to trainers within the States. Maybe we’ll see her again?_

Hotch doubted it.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

—and blinked. Spencer was leaning over him, tugging desperately at his shoulder. Hotch rolled, staggering up, recovering quickly now the focus of the battle was gone from him.

_Help! Dave won’t wake up!_ Spencer wailed. _I’m trying, I’m trying!_

The throb of **hypnosis** still hummed in the air, but Spencer’s eyes glowed white, pupil-less. **Safeguard**. Hotch looked up at where JJ was frantically battling three Pokémon, alone; Spencer’s **safeguard** gleamed around her shoulders, stopping **hypnosis** from pulling her down to be swarmed by the ghosts. JJ cried out, wavering. Hotch noted an oozing mass on her side where **toxic** ate into fragile scales. _Poisoned_ , he realized dully. Penelope darted around beneath the airborne Pokémon, shrilling loudly as she threw healing move after healing move upwards at JJ, each one striking home but almost immediately swept away by another noxious attack.

“Dave!” he hollered, but the Pidgeot was still unconscious, wings crumpled over his still form. Spencer’s bag was another wingspan away, thrown to the side in the chaos. There were antidotes inside, awakenings. He just had to reach it…

_JJ!_ wailed Spencer. Hotch turned in slow motion, saw the Dragonair fall. **Safeguard** had failed; **hypnosis** had struck home. A Gengar dove at her, tongue slithering from its mouth. **Dream eater**. Monumental damage.

She was too weak to take it.

Spencer teleported. Vanished from Hotch’s side and reappeared between the Gengar and JJ.

There was a single split second of time where Hotch’s brain whirred to a stop and tried to process the low-levelled Abra sitting square in the impact line of the Gengar’s attack.

It clicked.

“Spencer, **protect**!” he shouted, lunging at the bag. “Use **protect**!” It would stop the move from hitting him. “Use it, damnit!” Spencer used it, **protect** sparking up and catching. A perfect shield, making the target untouchable for exactly one attack.

Sparking up around JJ.

“No!” Hotch bellowed, and the Gengar struck.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

A talon tapped his shoulder. A soft whistle.

He opened his eyes to find Dave crouched over him with his dark eyes glittering. The Pidgeot jerked his head, jabbing his beak across the hotel room to the smaller bed where Spencer was curled into his usual tiny ball under the duvet, one paw barely visible where he’d pushed it out to let some air into his cavern of bedclothes.

But when Hotch looked over there, Spencer wasn’t alone.

A soft breeze that was all that remained of the earlier storm shifted the curtain between them. When it settled, there was a spool of blue scales curled around his youngest team member, narrowed eyes watching him over a white snout. Spencer mumbled, the blanket slipping from his as he curled tighter, one paw wrapping around the blue tail that tickled at his paw.

“Did you follow us?” Hotch asked quietly, his voice oddly deep in the hush of the room. “For any particular reason?”

The Dragonair blinked, lowering her head to nuzzle the Abra, letting her eyelids lower as though about to sleep. _If you think, after that show today, I trust you with this pup,_ said a gentle, female voice, _you’re severely mistaken, human. Sending a baby into battle… you humans are all the same. Treacherous._

Hotch excelled in his job because he did a number of things very well, and one thing in particular exceedingly well. He could profile Pokémon as easily as he could humans. It was simple. As simple as remembering that Pokémon were every bit as complex and multifaceted as humans. And this one. Brave. Protective. Mistrusting. Young, so young. Her tufted ears were small, only newly evolved. He’d put her at twenty-years-old, at the most. Six years older than Spencer.

Loyal, maybe, once that trust was earned. A Dragonair on his team? It was exactly the boost his career needed. A Dragonair now… eventually a Dragonite. With her along with Dave, Spencer would one day be a Alakazam and Elle as an Arcanine… it was _exactly_ what he needed.

But only if she wanted to. He wouldn’t catch her against her will. That wasn’t his style.

“Stay and I’ll prove you wrong,” he offered, rolling over in the bed to face her fully. “My Pokémon are my family… Spencer is my family. You’re welcome to join us.”

The silence lingered. The Dragonair looked from Dave to Hotch, wary. Then, finally, _Not for you. Not ever for you._

Spencer yawned, blinking awake. _Oh. You’re here, hello!_ Delight infused his voice. _Hotch, look! She came! She found us!_

And Hotch smiled. She’d stay. She’d understand, soon enough.

But she never did speak to him again.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

The Abra wavered. Staggered.

Didn’t fall.

The focus sash around Spencer’s throat gleamed, knotted into a close approximation of the tie that Hotch himself wore like a shield. Hotch’s ties were his uniform. Three days after he’d brought the homeless Abra pup home, small enough that he could have folded his hands completely around him, he’d caught the Pokémon attempting to wear one. He’d looked ridiculous. The tie had been longer than him, his paws too big and ungainly to knot it. Hotch had found him an old focus sash in a cupboard and made him a makeshift tie, assuming he’d grow out of the fascination with clothes.

He hadn’t.

And that very likely saved his life.

The focus sash glowed. When it faded, Spencer was still standing. The glow spread through him instead as he reared up onto his hind legs, muzzle twisted into a furious snarl, the deep purple of his psychic energy billowing out from him and warping his form into a bigger, stronger version of himself.

No. Not his power.

“Oh,” Hotch said, eyes widening with shock. Spencer flickered, grew. Vanished in a haze of white as his evolution kicked in, turning him from his miniscule Abra form to a Kadabra; standing as tall as Hotch’s shoulder with a huge bushy tail and long, narrow ears. “Oh, _Spence_.” A Kadabra would be strong enough to stand against the ghosts… not succeed, but stand firm… and it would offer Hotch the prestige he’d sought. Enough, maybe, to dig himself out of the hole his rash decision to storm the Elite Four had buried him in.

But he hesitated.

“Wait!”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

“Registration for a dragon type is quite complex, Agent Hotchner.” The bored looking civil litigation lawyer spread out the pile of paperwork for Hotch to pick his way through, marking every page where he wanted Hotch to sign. “Here, and here… you’ll need to fill out details on containment strategies for it—”

“Her,” Hotch corrected. The lawyer blinked. Hotch trailed his fingers across the warm ultraball at his hip, JJ humming cheerfully inside. “JJ is a she. Not an it. And no containment strategies—she’ll remain in my home, with me, same as the rest of my team. Is there a problem with that?”

Spencer yawned from his seat next to Hotch, ears drooping. His head nodded forward, paws pillowing his nose as it bumped them and he jolted upright, yawning again. _I’m bored,_ he grumbled, eyes flickering over the pages, reading them—upside-down—in an instant. Hotch didn’t reply, well aware his penchant for talking to the Abra in public raised eyebrows. _Bored bored bored. So bored I could **die**. Did you know that boredom triggers a reflex in the brain similar to physical pain?_

“Shh,” Hotch breathed, covering it by coughing when the lawyer glanced at him. Spencer sulked.

“Your insurance will skyrocket with a dragon type loose in your abode,” the lawyer was saying, as though Hotch gave a damn about his premiums. “Fully evolved types are believed to be lower risk though—more bound to their trainers. Do you have plans to evolve her further?”

“Yes,” Hotch answered, still looking down at Spencer and trying not to smirk as the Abra levitated various stationary behind the lawyer’s back from a penholder into the fish tank.

The Abra froze, tail twitching. _I didn’t know JJ wanted to evolve,_ he said oddly, his voice distant. _Have you asked her?_

“I—what?” Hotch stared at him.

“Excuse me?” asked the lawyer, but Hotch ignored him.

_I don’t know,_ Spencer sent, hunching back into the chair. _Not everyone wants to evolve… I don’t. Statistically, higher evolved forms suffer from greater rates of depression, anxiety, burn-out, and stress-related illnesses. Besides. I like being me._

“Well, you don’t have to evolve then,” Hotch answered finally, thrown. Didn’t _every_ Pokémon want to evolve?

_If the trainer wishes, the Pokémon obeys. An Alakazam would open pathways for you an Abra will not… I am a child’s Pokémon. Baby’s first psychic type. It would be selfish of me to deny you that prestige because of my own insecurities._

The bitter tone to his voice was stunning. Hotch winced, because he’d used that exact word before when thinking of his Pokémon. _Prestige._ “You’re more than the regard that you bring,” he replied pertly, flicking the Abra’s ear with his pen. “If you don’t want to evolve, you don’t have to.”

_Promise?_

“Promise.”

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“Wait. Stop.”

The Abra paused, teeth gritted as though in pain, his eyes wide and scared. On the cusp. He turned his head and stared at Hotch, plaintive. There was something in his eyes. Something he was asking. Something he was _desperately_ hoping that Hotch would read in his expression. Hotch shook his head and the light vanished with a flicker and Spencer crumpled. Chest heaving, he curled into himself, shaking with the shock of his stalled evolution.

But still himself. Still an Abra. Still _Spencer_.

The Gengar screeched and lunged again, but a tail lashed out and tugged Spencer out of the way, JJ rearing. Hotch didn’t have to tell her what move to use. She was _furious_.

**Outrage**.

The dragon howled, thrashing, the dragon type move destroying everything in the path of her powerful body as she tore through the ghost as though he was made of paper. The Haunter soon followed; she turned on the final Pokémon, a stunned looking Arbok, and smashed into him with all of the force of her considerable power. Red light glittered and recalled the three fainted Pokémon. JJ slumped, panting, fatigued with the exhaustion brought about by the destructive move. The trainer didn’t run or shout. Merely lowered the hand holding the Pokéballs and examined them judiciously. Penelope bounded up behind him, singing. He swayed, still silent, then dropped. JJ swirled forward, creating a landing for him as he crumpled.

_His mind is a mess_ , Spencer sent tiredly from his position on the floor. Hotch stood from checking on Dave as Penelope bounced up to him, waking him up with a shift in the air as she called on her status healing move-set. _He’s been using the ghost types as a part of himself for so long, I can’t even tell which of him is… him, and which is Pokémon. I think… I think it was the Gengar threatening us though. I think the Gengar might have been responsible for all of it. Once it was defeated, he felt… less. Less noxious._

“A malevolent spirit controlling him?” Hotch asked, sensing Spencer’s wish to avoid the subject of what had almost happened. “It’s possible. It doesn’t absolve him of what he’s done though. Spencer… about what happened.”

The Abra stood, shakily. Hotch swallowed, staring.

He was different.

A darker patch in the centre of his forehead, in the rough shape of a star. His ears were longer. Hotch couldn’t be sure—he so rarely saw Spencer standing at his full height—but he suspected that he’d grown taller. Where his tail had been slender and otter-like before, now it was full and bushy, swishing across the dusty floor. The evolution had left its mark on him. Just like any scar, visible or otherwise.

_Thank you,_ Spencer whispered, blinking. _I… for respecting my wishes. Thank you. I knew you’d understand._


	5. Spencer's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Spencer's intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions, and at the moment his shield is under repair.”_
> 
>  

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Spencer still looked wobbly, and Penelope only had so much healing _oomph_ left in her. Hotch eyed his battered team. He knew what was ahead. He knew he needed them all. He also knew that he couldn’t risk them for a personal vendetta.

“Penelope, Spencer, stay with the trainer,” he ordered, and two heads swung around to stare accusingly at him. Hotch met those gazes evenly, despite the raw _betrayal_ written all over Spencer’s.

_You can’t go ahead without me!_ Spencer argued, standing to his full height. Definitely taller. Not as tall as he would have been if the evolution had cemented, but he wasn’t going to be perching on Hotch’s shoulder anymore. Hotch had carried him for the last time. _You’re deaf without me. You’ll have to broadcast your moves. Shut up, Dave!_

Hotch turned that sharp gaze to Dave, noting the way the Pidgeot’s head was cocked curiously towards Spencer, his beak slightly open. “You’re senior to him,” Hotch said to him, “do you agree he should stay?”

Dave nodded and Spencer bristled, barking once angrily, the sound slipping involuntarily from him. _No!_

“That’s an order,” Hotch snapped, and turned to walk away. Dave followed after a short moment, Emily padding alongside. Footsteps echoing in the empty room, Hotch heard JJ eventually take to the air and slowly weave after them as well, as though she’d stayed to impart some final advice onto her friend. But it had to be done. Spencer and Penelope… they weren’t battlers…

And greater battlers than he had fallen to Foyet before.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

The Pokéball sat between them.

“I’m not a Pokémon trainer,” Hotch said coldly, staring at the ball. “I have no intention upon becoming one.” The last thing he needed were more creatures dependant on him that he could fail.

“It’s cute that you think this is a request,” Gideon replied, rolling the ball towards him with a flick of his hand. Hotch caught it on reflex, hefting the heavy weight, sensing a great, slow power within. “Take him. Aaron, what happened out there—”

Hotch’s fingers white-knuckled closed over the warm surface of the ball. With a dull thrill, he _recognised_ what was within. “He won’t listen to me,” he reminded his boss, swallowing hard, grief and worry battling with the ache of his still-healing injuries to remind him of the weight of his fuck-ups. “Jason, you can’t give me your Pidgeot. He’s too strong for me—”

“I’m not giving him to you.” Gideon sat back at the desk, fingers steepled in front of himself. “Your refusal to use a team has crippled what should have been a fast ascent up the ranks, Hotch. When you began here, you were the Hotshot. Hotshot Hotchner, they called you, and I don’t think I didn’t hear them. You made it this far alone, impressive, yes—but now you need to learn that using a team doesn’t mean admitting you _can’t_ do it alone. Consider this a loan until you understand that… and until we’ve found the Reaper.” Looking down at the Pokéball, Hotch’s blood burned. He swallowed once, twice, again, remembering the hot slide of the knife on his skin, Haley’s scream, Jack crying…

They made enemies in this job. Sometimes, the enemies came knocking.

“If I’d had Pokémon, he never would have gotten into my home—” Hotch began, voice thick, and coughed. It jarred the stitches, he closed his eyes, grit his teeth. “He never would have—”

“Don’t.” Gideon was sharp, knocking Hotch away from the spiral he knew he was heading towards. “What’s done is done, Aaron. Keep Dave with you… he’s my greatest and oldest ally. I have to go. Something has been getting into my cabin and tripping the alarms. Pest guy thinks raccoons, wants to bait some traps, but I’d rather some less lethal discouragement.” He stood with a sad smile, grabbing his coat and slipping past. “Go home. Get some sleep. The Reaper isn’t going to vanish between now and Monday morning, and I know you haven’t had a break for a month now. That’s an order. Rest!” And he was gone. Hotch blinked, frowning. Mind whirring, it took him a beat too long to realize he’d just been played. Gideon hadn’t left his Pokémon with him to teach him a lesson.

He’d left him so Hotch wasn’t going home, alone, to an empty house.

“Damnit, Jason,” Hotch muttered, turning and following him. “I don’t need your coddling.”

But he gripped the Pokéball tight anyway.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“Hiya, Hotchy.” Foyet grinned from his perched position on the hulking back of a gape-mawed Gyarados. “Long time no stab. How’s the fam—oh… wait. Heh. I must say, I expected something a lot more spectacular from ‘Hotshot Hotchner’. Not _fifteen_ years of waiting for you to catch the fuck up.”

Hotch ignored his jibes. Ignored the anger. Ignored everything that tried to cripple him in this moment: the memory of screams, the memory of pain, the memory of crushing loneliness.

“George Foyet, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jason—”

“Oh, oh, oh, I know this bit!” George laughed as he leapt down from his Pokémon, feet tapping lightly on the stone as he landed. “Let me. ‘George Foyet, you suave motherfucker, you’re under arrest for the murder of one ostentatious Champion’s arsehole, Jason Gideon—”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

_Jason Gideon_ said the over-bright screen of his cell as Hotch peered at it through the three-a.m. darkness, wincing. “Hotchner. What’s wrong?”

Gideon’s voice was ragged. He was panting. He was running.  “Aaron—he knows where we hid Haley and Jack. He’s after them!”

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“You take him together,” Hotch said to his three remaining team members, ignoring Foyet. “Cover each other’s weaknesses.”

“—the ever lovely, Haley Hotchner, may she rest in pieces hating the husband who left her to die—”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

The house was gone. All that remained was destruction: the foundations torn from the ground by a lashing tail, chunks of ground ripped and torn by the force of the blasts, wood and stone and everything else that made a home littering the street in shattered piles of disarray. The entire street was flooded, car alarms wailing, people crying.

“Gyarados,” someone was saying. “Came out of fucking nowhere…”

He found Gideon in the wreck of what would have been the living room, a Machamp heaving the rubble from his body. Unlike his Pokemon, unlike the creatures that had died protecting his family, Gideon was in one piece. Foyet had shot him.

Even a Champion could fall to a bullet.

There was a low, grieved keening sound from behind him. Hotch turned dazedly, and found Dave hunkered down over the crumpled, shattered form of a Charizard. The small dragon’s teal and orange wings were ripped, his chest sagging where the blow had fallen. Dave mourned.

No. Dave wasn’t just mourning. He was warning Hotch away.

Hotch stepped closer. Dave shook his head, eyes glinting. Hotch stepped closer again. Something crunched under his foot. A photo. He lifted his foot.

Jack and Haley, the day Jack was born. Some eight months earlier. Jack Jack _Jack Jack don’t be Jack oh Jesus, don’t be Jack_ …

It wasn’t.

Gideon’s Charizard had fallen with his wings mantled over Haley, died trying to save her. Trying. Failing. Just like Hotch had.

“My son,” Hotch said blankly, staring at his wife’s body. “Where’s my son?”

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“Dave.” Hotch kept his voice steady. The Pidgeot ignored him, eyes locked on Foyet and hate almost radiating from the ruffle of his feathers, beak snicking as he clicked it hungrily. “ _Dave_.” If there was any time he needed Dave to listen to him, it was now. If he didn’t… it would cost them everything. “I need you to cover your team. Don’t go after him. He has five viable battlers. We have three. We need you.”

Dave hissed.

“—oh, oh, and last but certainly least, the adorable and oh so pathetically helpless Jackie boy, that poor bastard.” Foyet’s sneering voice was closer. Hotch shuddered and jerked his head around to face him, feeling the anger working its way into his head and his heart and pushing him to recklessness. “I gotta ask, it’s bothered me for fifteen years… was there enough left of his body to bury, Aaron?”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

“The cadaver Pokémon aren’t picking up any other bodies. Agent Hotchner, your son isn’t here.” The ground heaved under him, threatening to bring him to his knees.

The Reaper had Jack.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

The anger surged.

“Take down his Pokémon,” he said to his team coldly. “And then him. No mercy.”

The three of them howled with him, feeling his grief and anger, some fifteen years building, and charged. White burst in front of them as Foyet laughed and laughed and laughed, his Pokémon whirling into the air around him. Two Dragonairs that slammed into JJ with matching screeches. An Aerodactyl that took to the air with a booming call, locking talons with Dave in a vicious, slashing battle that had feathers and blood flying in seconds. A Dragonite that was silent, deadly silent, and dived for Emily, blinking in and out of sight as he tried to out-manoeuvre the swift vulpine. And Foyet walked calmly towards Hotch, his Gyarados lifting its massive head and slithering after him, body cutting a destructive path through the room. A knife glinted in his hand.

“Shouldn’t have come here alone, Aaron,” Foyet said, smiling. “Stupid mistake.”   

Hotch blinked. Settled his hand on his belt. Smiled, despite the pain. Smiled _because_ of the pain.

“I’m not alone,” he murmured, more to himself than to Foyet. “I have my team. And they’ve outsmarted you before.”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

Hotch curled into himself, lost. His son was missing and he was fucking _lost_. Foyet was a ghost. No trace left. No trace of Jack.

And he was shattering.

Dave huddled against Gideon’s desk, looking small and ruffled and miserable. Hotch distantly grieved for the bird too. He’d lost five friends. His team. His trainer. Everything. But Hotch had lost so much too. In the process of losing. And he was floundering right when they needed him.

He closed his eyes, tried to bite back the pain, and—

Snapped them open. “Why was Gideon closer to the safe-house than I was?” he asked, feeling his body stand almost without his permission. “He said he was going to his cabin. That’s miles away. Even with Anderson flying him, he couldn’t have beaten you, Charizards are slower than—” He stumbled to the desk, hands flying over the box of evidence they’d collected. The box of evidence he shouldn’t have here. But he did, because he’d come up here intending to solve it, before shattering under the weight of his isolation.

Dave stood, wobbling, leaning closer as Hotch found Gideon’s phone, snapping it open with one hand and skimming through the call log.

**> Called: A. Hotchner**

**> Called: 911**

**> Called: DC Central Pokécenter: Lost or Abandoned Pokémon Hotline**

He hit the call button with a trembling thumb, holding the phone to his ear and staring at Dave as the Pidgeot stared back, wide-eyed and almost quivering with the tension.

“DC Central Pokécenter, how may we assist?”

“This is Agent Hotchner with the FBI.” Hotch tried not to bark the words, but failed, his voice harsh and choking. “Ma’am, it’s of the utmost importance. Did you take a call from a Jason Gideon early yesterday morning? Please. Lives are at stake.”

“Oh my, gosh, um. I just need to…” Hotch counted his breaths as typing filled the line. _One… two… three… four…_ “Are you there, Agent? Yes, we have a report here. Mr. Gideon was bringing in a lost Pokémon he’d found on his property. The intake nurse doesn’t appear to have listed species—or Mr. Gideon himself was unsure when he made the call—but he seemed certain it would need treatment.”

“And he never brought it in?”

“No, sir. We had a nurse waiting, but he never arrived. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

His breath was loud, his heart skipping a beat and then double thumping to make up for it. “Is there any reason he wouldn’t have known the species of the Pokémon? Agent Gideon is—was—immensely experienced with Pokémon. Surely, he would have…” He wasn’t even sure why he was asking this. There hadn’t _been_ any other Pokémon at the house, at the scene. Just Gideon’s.

“Oh, plenty of reasons even an experienced trainer might have trouble identifying it. It might be an alien species, escaped or released from a trainer in the wrong area—we do have terrible trouble with loose Miltanks in the Tongass National Park up Canada way. Or it could be an illusionist species—a Ditto, for example. Or if it was a teleporter—”

Hotch was out the door before the line had time to disconnect.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Ice blasted their faces as Foyet approached. The Gyarados roared as JJ’s **blizzard** bore down on them all, sending the Aerodactyl that grappled with Dave slamming to the ground. Dave slammed into it with bone-crashing force, talons gripping and catching and _tearing_. The creature didn’t get up. But the Dragonairs were closing in on her and she could only avoid their immensely powerful **dragon rage** blasts for so long, even as Dave joined her.

“You know they’ll fall,” Foyet said, right as a **hyper beam** sent Emily’s paws tumbling out from under her and threw her right into the heavy-set dragon’s following **slam** , her body helpless in the bigger Pokémon’s crushing grip. “Gideon’s did. Why are your Pokémon any different?”

Hotch lunged at him, faster than Foyet expected. They hit the ground, rolled, Hotch lashing out with a foot and striking the other man’s ankle.

“Argh!” snarled Foyet, and struck with the knife. The blood was warm and pooling, trickling into his eyes, but Hotch didn’t flinch. Couldn’t flinch. Too much rested on this. “My dragons will destroy your precious team, you know this! _Destroy them!_ And I’ll take their bodies and _present_ them to the fucking world as a warning—you can’t beat dragons, Hotchner!”

He was wrong. His team could.

They had to.

Foyet. Kept. Talking. Even as Hotch slammed his fist into his jaw, catching the hand that tried to bring the knife down on his unprotected torso. “They're hard to catch and raise, but their powers are superior. They're virtually indestructible. There's no being clever with them. And your Pokémon are weak to them. Weak! Look—there she goes!”

JJ crumpled. A **dragon rage** attack had finally landed, throwing her back against the wall. She tumbled, rolled, slipped off the edge of the platform they battled on and falling to the depths below. Hotch kicked out, feeling bone crack under his foot, reaching out with her Pokéball to recall her before she could vanish from reach. Red light glittered as she returned, defeated. But alive. Fucking _alive_ , thank god.

Dave screamed in rage, beset by two dragons now. And Emily still struggled.

“Can’t win,” gasped Foyet through his broken nose, eyes glittering. “Gyarados… **hydro-pump** the Ninetales. _Extinguish_ her.” The Gyarados turned. Emily was facing off with the Dragonite, her back to the deadly force moving silently towards her. Unaware. **Hydro-pump** would throw her against the wall. Pin her there with the force of the water.

She’d be crushed. Drowned.

“Emily!” Hotch roared, and pulled her Pokéball out. “Return!”

But she shook her fur out, tossed him a _look_ and ignored him, refusing the command. The Pokéball dulled. The Gyarados opened its mouth.

“Emily!”

And the water smashed into the spot where she was standing with torrential, stone-shattering force, cracking the platform in two as it cut through it like a hot knife through butter. There was no surviving that blast.

“No!”

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

Gideon’s cabin wasn’t silent. Dave landed as quietly as he could, but they could already hear the screaming. A baby, screaming. Hungry and scared and alone: it screamed because it could do nothing else. And Hotch ran. Burst through the door with a moaned _Jack_ and staggered when he saw his son flailing red-faced and weak from misery and hunger on the rug. He took a step, falling to his knees, reaching—

And purple flickered into view between him and his son, just a flicker.

When it faded, Jack was gone. The crying stopped.

A moment later, it started again. From the bedroom. Swallowing hard, Hotch followed.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Foyet was laughing under his hands so Hotch hit him. Again and again. _You fuck,_ he snarled in his mind, because Emily was dead, she had to be, she couldn’t have—

Emily barked. Hotch looked up, stunned. Confused.

The knife slashed up and cut his jaw. Jerking back, he barely avoided his throat being cut, hitting the ground hard on his shoulder and at Foyet’s mercy for a single, breathless, wheezing moment. The knife slashed down. But it never landed. A paw snapped out and grabbed Foyet’s wrist, claws cutting deep.

_Don’t touch him_ , Spencer whispered, his voice ice. Foyet blinked. Emily growled, pacing around them, and the Dragonite saw them and dived. Spencer’s eyes glowed purple, deep purple, and he vanished, taking Foyet with him. Staggering up, Hotch stared at the empty space where Foyet had crouched, right as Emily set the air in front of them on fire, the Dragonite screaming in pain as it flew directly into the inferno. It hit the ground and didn’t move, sides heaving. She turned away from it, her interest gone now that the trainer wasn’t goading it to further violence.

And there was a _thwomp_ above their heads as Spencer reappeared. For a single moment, Foyet hung in the air under him as gravity tried to decide what way was down, before the Pokémon holding him let go. Foyet fell with a howl, hitting the ground _hard_ about ten feet from Hotch.

The Gyarados bellowed, the foundations shaking, rearing up with its huge tail thrashing dangerously, reaching up and up towards the levitating Abra. **Thunder** boomed, crashing down on the Gyarados’ tensed neck. The ground shook under them as Derek leapt over them with an earthshaking roar, slamming home another four times super effective **thunder** attack.

The Gyarados fell. Foyet lurched to his feet. Derek turned to him.

He ran.

And Spencer appeared in front of him.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

Taking a deep breath, he burst into the bedroom. “Wait—”

But the purple flickered against and Jack was gone. “Damn!” Hotch cried out, panic making his mind whirl, as the weakening whimpers of his son sounded out nearby. He ran out to the kitchen, wild with anger and fear, and almost sprawled as his foot hit something heavy and round that rolled away loudly.

He looked down. A can of…

Powdered formula?

Hotch stared. Walked slowly around the centre counter, finding the ground veritably littered with battered cans of formula, some open, some not. Powder coated the floor. Another can caught his eye. Gideon didn’t eat canned food. Gideon was, if anything, positively _elite_ about the food he ate. But there it was… a canned tin of peaches in juice, the surface marred by claw marks and bites, the top battered where clumsy paws had tried to pry it open.

And Hotch swallowed his anger and panic back, and picked up the can. Found a drawer, found a can-opener. Dave whistled, confused, watching him with an expression that suggested he’d lost his damn mind as he opened the can and poured the contents into a bowl, pushing it away from him across the floor and backing up.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” he called. Jack whimpered from above. Something scuffed in the roof-space. “Come on. I know you’re hungry. I know Jack is too—why don’t you come down and eat while I make a bottle? You have to mix the formula with hot water, you know. I can show you.”

Silence. A weak whine.

“Please,” Hotch pleaded. “If you can hear me… if you understand. He’s my son. And you saved him… but now you need to trust me. Please.”

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

Foyet ran straight into the Abra, almost tumbling over him. They vanished again. Reappeared above. Hotch realized with a thrill of cold down his spine that Spencer was _manic_ with rage.

_You killed Gideon_ , Spencer hissed, and in that hiss was the memory of Dave’s grief for his team, the memory of kind hands reaching out and brushing against a young Pokémon, lifting him up, tucking him close under a warm windbreaker.

He dropped him again. Foyet hit the ground with a yowl, his leg snapping. They watched in shock.

_You killed Haley._

Spencer had never known Haley, but still he hammered Foyet with thoughts, memories, sensations. Gideon’s fear. Jack screaming and screaming and desperate for food, single-mindedly thinking of his mother’s touch. Crouching in Gideon’s car and hearing the Gyarados rip through the house. Teleporting to the man who’d helped him.

Gideon _commanding_ him to run. A woman screaming.

A baby.

He’d run, but he hadn’t run alone.

_You hurt Aaron_.

More memories. Being part of a team. A family. A make-shift tie and friends around him, waking up in a house that wasn’t empty, Hotch giving him books and knowledge and teaching him more than he ever could have imagined. Opening his world. _Love_.

Foyet screamed. The dark move bubbled out of the ground around him, biting at his legs and oozing up his torso, consuming him. Hotch stared. He had no idea when Spencer had learned **torment** , but he knew it now and he used it without mercy. Foyet screamed again.

_You hurt my **family**._

 

**< << The Before <<<**

_Thwomp_.

Hotch twitched back in shock. Hunkered near the bowl, his otter-like tail lashing, the Abra stared him down with its fangs bared. _RrrrrRrRRRrrr_ went the steady growl, throbbing like a motor as the Abra inched towards the food. Jack was in its arms, held firmly by those over-sized paws, one small hand gripping the Abra’s claw tightly. The Abra slunk down, lowering the baby into his lap, reaching one shaking paw towards the bowl, hesitatingly. Hotch wanted to dive over there, rip his son out of the Pokémon’s arms and hold him close and make sure he was okay, alive, _alive_ , but he couldn’t. One wrong move and he’d lose him again. So, instead, he pressed back against the counter and watched.

A claw tapped the bowl. Paused. Black eyes studied him. Jack moaned, a soft sighing gasp, and Hotch shuddered with that noise. The Abra lowered the baby onto the ground, gently, and vanished. Hotch twitched with shock.

And then vaulted forward, scooping up his son and clutching the infant close, almost sobbing with pain and relief.

_Thwomp!_

He whirled around. The Abra staggered, knees impacting on the carpet, head drooping as it fell. Exhausted. This last **teleport** had drained it. It hit the ground, helpless and too weak to defend itself, something rolling from its paw.

_I knew it needed hot water,_ said a voice so thin and weak that Hotch almost thought he’d imagined it. _I tried. Couldn’t. Couldn’t… don’t… don’t put me in a Pokéball… it’s dark. I don’t…_ And it slumped, eyes shuttering closed. Unconscious. The bottle it was holding, filled with half mixed, gluggy formula and leaking from where clumsy claws had accidentally punctured the thin plastic, rocked as it came to a stop.

“Jesus,” breathed Hotch, stunned, and reached for his cell.

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

“Spencer.”

The Abra ignored him. The move rolled up Foyet, consuming his chest, his throat, his mouth—

“Spencer!” Hotch stepped forward, his voice a bark. The Abra shuddered, turning his head slowly, so slowly, and found them all in a loose ring around him, staring. “Stop. This… this will haunt you if you kill him.” Hotch wanted him dead. _Oh_ how he wanted him dead.

But not at Spencer’s claws.

Emily inched forwards on her belly, flat to the ground. Reached out her nose to Spencer, tapping against his elbow. She whined, ears flicking back. The **torment** wavered, shrunk, receding from Foyet’s mouth to allow him to gasp for air.

_He hurt us_ , Spencer cried, his mind in turmoil. Every dark thought and hate and memory that Hotch had kept close for the past fifteen years, every one of them, Spencer knew them all. Had kept them close. _He hurt us!_

“He did,” Hotch said, and held out his hand for the Pokémon to take. “And he won’t again. Unless you do this… then you’ll never be able to put him behind you.”

Spencer stared at his hand.

“Oh, come on,” choked Foyet, laughing wetly. “Mercy, now? After I killed your son, Aaron? You’ve gone soft.”

_You didn’t kill Jack,_ Spencer said suddenly, looking at him. Foyet stared. _I saved him. I did. He’s alive… and he doesn’t even know your name. Fancy that, George. You were outwitted by an Abra. A child. Some Reaper._

The **torment** vanished. Spencer stepped back, shaking his kite-shaped head slowly.

_I bet you once,_ he said, jutting his jaw up stubbornly. _And I’m doing it again. You’ll rot in jail. And I won’t think about you at **all**. _ There was a beat. Spencer reached up and took Hotch’s hand with his paw, pressing close to his leg, ear brushing Hotch’s elbow. His choice made, he turned his back on Foyet.

_Not his choice_ , Hotch realized suddenly, realizing he wasn’t angry, wasn’t wild with rage and revenge anymore. _Mine. I drove him. And… I can step away from this._

So he did. “George Foyet, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jason Gideon—” he began again, reaching for his cuffs.

And Foyet ran.

 

 

**< << The Before <<<**

Jack slept unnervingly deeply in his crib, welcomingly free from the tubes and wires he’d been covered with during his overnight stay in hospital for the dehydration and starvation he’d suffered. Hotch watched him hungrily, aching for his wife, his loss, and then crept from the room. He found Dave in the living room, silently staring at the tiny huddled ball of the Abra still sleeping on the couch. It hadn’t moved since Hotch had placed it there two days before, only waking up momentarily to gulp down water and food with a ravenous appetite that made Hotch’s chest tighten and throb painfully to see.

There was a soft cough by the door. Jessica, her eyes red-rimmed and hair unbrushed. “You know they’re going to put me and Jack into witness protection,” she said, stepping into the room and walking over to touch his shoulder.

“I know,” he responded numbly. “I suggested it. I… I can’t protect you from Foyet. Not alone.” He turned back to the Abra for lack of anything else to look at, eyes burning. Even under the light blanket someone, probably Jessica, had draped over it, he could see too many bones and not enough flesh. The thing was starved. Dirty and skinny and hopelessly wretched. “How old do you think it is?”

Jessica looked at him oddly. “Not very,” she said finally, her voice strange. “Far too young to be alone, that’s for sure. You’ll have to give him up to someone who can look after him. Do you even know how to raise baby Pokémon?”

Hotch frowned. What a question! “Yes,” he snapped, reaching out to scuff his finger over a ragged clump of fur on the sleeping Abra’s ear. “Of course I do. I’m perfectly capable.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Jessica said, moving away to poke at the sticky bowl that had contained peach slices he’d left for the creature to eat. “But you know, with work, and… and us being gone… well, it’s a big responsibility, Aaron. And you don’t even like Pokémon.”

Something in her tone niggled. He looked up at her, narrowing his eyes. “Are you deliberately trying to goad me into keeping it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She smiled, behind her grief, eyes over-bright.

“Aha, yes. I should have known better than to try that on a profiler.” She laughed, weakly, and looked down at the Abra. “He’s alone, Aaron. He needs someone.”

_He._

“It’s a male?” Hotch asked, swallowing. This was disarmingly close to knowing far too much about the beast. More than knowing it could communicate, like a _person_. Well, not like a person, it was a Pokémon… they weren’t _that_ clever. But… it had stolen the formula. Even, almost, made it. Understood that Jack was in danger. Understood that Gideon’s cabin was safe. Understood that Hotch was there to help it.

What else did it understand?

_Spencer,_ said a thin voice. Hotch jumped, looking down. A single, half-open eye looked back. _My name is Spencer. Hi, hello…_

“Did… did he just _talk?”_ Thankfully, Jessica sounded as stunned as he’d felt.

“Hi, hello yourself,” he said, knowing what he was going to do, not really liking it. _Goddamnit, Hotchner_ , he thought, frustrated. _This is the last thing you need…_

_I won’t stay if you don’t want me_. The Abra paused, closing its eyes and tilted its head. _You don’t want me. I don’t need to be here. I’m fine on my own._

A blatant lie.

“How old are you?”

_Seventeen._

Another blatant lie.

“You’re staying,” Hotch grunted, standing, his knees popping. “At least… for a while. Until you’re stronger. Older.”

Silence, a worried, terse silence. _Please don’t put me in a Pokéball,_ the Abra said, ears folding back. He sat up slowly, swaying, hunching into himself. So fucking small, Hotch thought he might be able to hold him in two hands and almost have him vanish between them. _There’s something terrifying about being confined to an analogous data representation of myself. It’s disconcerting._

“You’re scared of Pokeballs?” Jessica, again, still shocked.

_I… they’re boring._

“Is that really the worst thing?” Hotch asked. He’d have to get him registered. Set up a search for his parents, if he had any. If he was wild—which Hotch suspected he _wasn’t_ , because what wild Pokémon knew the word ‘analogous’? —they wouldn’t be able to find them, but if his parents were registered… “Being bored?”

_… They’re also dark._

An Abra scared of the dark. This. This and a grief-stricken bird was the only two Pokémon standing between Hotch and the Reaper.

“No Pokéballs,” he agreed, and held his hand out as though to shake before thinking it through. Shaking hands with a Pokémon? What was _wrong_ with him today? The Abra eyed his hand, before reaching a paw up to tap uncertainly against his palm, claws wrapping tight around his fingers. He didn’t shake. Just hung on, like Jack when he was being cuddled. Like any child longing for affection. It hit Hotch then. _He’s just a child._ “I promise.”

_Thank you._

 

 

**> >> The Battle >>>**

He didn’t make it far. Nothing was faster than a Pidgeot. Dave struck with a clap of wings and a slash of talons, and Foyet never got up again. Hotch watched, silently, with Spencer still gripping his hand tightly.

_It’s over,_ Spencer said suddenly, _you can go home. To Jack._

Hotch swayed under the relief, his knees shaking. His team clustered close. Derek reached out a huge paw for him to lean on. Emily pressed against the knee that Spencer wasn’t already huddled by. They supported him through this. It took him a while to notice that Spencer had said _you_. Not _we_.

But for that moment, all he was, was thankful.


	6. David's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And Agent Gideon in many ways is damned by his profound knowledge of others which is why he shares so little of himself, yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.”_

**> >> The Battle >>>**

They walked alone into the empty Champion’s Hall. Empty now, and had been for the last fifteen years. No Champion had walked these halls since Foyet had murdered Jason Gideon.

The current Champion board was covered in a thick layer of dust, the picture obscured. Dave hissed angrily at the disrepair, rearing and beating his wings to send a squall of wind that blasted the glass and the surrounds clean. Black marble gleamed, dirt flurried, and Gideon looked out at them from the static moment the camera had snapped shut on his picture, almost thirty years before.

His team surrounded him. A Pikachu, a Venusaur, a Blastoise, the reptilian snout of his Charizard, the shy smile of a Lapras. Dave by his side, chest thrust out proudly and beak open in a screech that the other Pokemon were wincing at. For once, Dave was quiet, withdrawn, his dark eyes locked on the frozen faces of his team.

Spencer hovered next to them, eyes wide.

_I’m sorry about your team,_ he said suddenly, reaching a paw to brush Dave’s wing. _And your trainer… I know it was a long time ago and… well, I just can’t imagine how it would feel to lose… this._

Dave made a low noise, slipping away to where the door stood. They were done. It was done. They could go home, to whatever awaited them there. Hotch swallowed. Foyet was dead. Dave had no reason to stay with him… not anymore. Jack. Hotch could go home to Jack. He loved his job, loved it dearly, but he loved his family more.

And it had been too long.

“What did he say?” he asked Spencer softly, as the Pidgeot slipped from the room without looking back.

Spencer’s chest heaved as he sucked in a breath, his tail low and fluffed with worry.

_‘Everything ends eventually, kid.’ This isn’t the end is it, Hotch? Of us? Hotch?_

Hotch didn’t answer.

He just didn’t know.

 

 

**=== The Now ===**

Silence pervaded the room.

“You chose the BAU,” Strauss said suddenly. “All those years ago. Do you regret that choice, Agent Hotchner? Knowing that it lost you fifteen years with your family?”

Hotch didn’t let his gaze slip or waver. “I did what I had to do to keep them safe, ma’am. I spent those fifteen years building my team and my abilities until I knew I could walk Victory Road and come out the other side, alive. Not just alive, but with my team unharmed. You were wrong, to call them untrained, under levelled… my team are exactly where they need to be to get the job done. And they’ll continue doing the job, no matter who leads them, because they love this work. No matter what punishment you see fit to lay on me for my actions, don’t punish my team. They were following my orders. And they were fantastic.”

Strauss was quiet, eying the people surrounding her. “We will need to discuss your case, Agent,” she said, finally. “But I need to ask. If this is the end of your career within the Bureau, what will you do?”

And now, Hotch smiled. Because he knew this answer. He was tired. Old, older than he had been, and bone-tired.

“I’m going home,” he said simply. “To my family.”


	7. Jack’s Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Once again the team had battled a monster and won.”_

**+++ The Future +++**

It was almost impossible to tell which blue and white capped burst from the water was the diving dragon Pokemon and which were just waves tossed up by the light breeze. Watching the water quietly, his throat dry and tight, Aaron picked at the grass by his side. They were silent for a long time, listening to the trilling calls of the adult Dragonairs calling to Henry and the splashing sounds of the baby Dratini flicking water at his parents.

Jack hummed suddenly, leaning forward to brace his chin on his knee, arm looped loosely around his legs. “I don’t get it,” he said, staring intently at the water with his hair flopping into his eyes in just the way that made Aaron itch to reach for a comb. “You went through all of that… they meant so much to you. Why’d you let them go?”

The breath that Aaron sucked in as he thought about that was crisp and sharp with the morning air. Wings beat overhead, Dave gliding in low over the water with his talons skimming the surface, searching for fish. JJ spat a stream of water at him, diving down with a shrill laugh as the Pidgeot squalled and turned on her.

“Because they have a right to their lives,” he said finally, leaning back and tilting his face back into the sun. “Same as we do. I didn’t know that when Gideon gave me Dave. It took me fifteen years to work it out… and once I did, it changed everything. You don’t force your family to stay by your side. They just do.”

And they had. Since the day he’d pressed the button on each of their Pokéballs that severed the connection between Pokémon and ball, they were still by his side. Maybe not physically. He hadn’t seen Emily since that day, although he knew she’d find him once she was finished finding herself. Derek and Penelope appeared every couple of months, sprawled on the shoreline near his home as though they’d never left and always with some new gadget held firmly in Penelope’s paws and new books for Spencer tucked in her pouch.

Dave had stayed. _He says he’s too old to go adventuring now,_ Spencer had translated. _He did actually say old this time, I swear._

JJ had vanished and, two years later, reappeared in the lake with a whistling call. It had taken another three months for Aaron to realize she wasn’t alone, and he’d only found out because he’d seen Spencer playing with the baby Dratini on the shore one day. She was back, maybe, but not his Pokémon anymore, and he was fine with that. She trusted him enough to keep her family close, trusting him to keep them safe, and that was all that mattered.

And Spence; he’d stayed. Laughed at the idea of leaving. But as the years flickered on in this quiet, muted existence in their home in the middle of nowhere, with Jack and Jessica and the fields and the lake, he’d grown quieter. Hotch caught him pacing outside in the middle of the night, eyes locked on the sky. Sometimes, the Abra went weeks without speaking at all.

And the day Jack had turned seventeen, Hotch knew what came next. Full circle.

“You sayin’ this just so I don’t feel bad about leaving, old man?” Jack joked, slugging his arm gently, but he looked strained. Worried. He shouldn’t be. He’d do just fine. “Aw, you know I can stay a bit longer… maybe leave next year.”

Hotch stood, ignoring his joints protesting the hour spent lounging on the damp grass. “Jack, all you’ve talked about for two years is going out searching for Pokémon,” he said, turning his back on the lake and walking to the quiet house that was about to grow quieter. Spencer was sitting on the porch step, hind claws scratching at the dirt as he wiggled his toes, sweater vest and tie firmly on and bag at his side. Ready.

Even if Hotch wasn’t.

“You’ll be fantastic,” he finished, hugging his son close. Jack clung, for a moment forgetting the months it had taken for them to stop being strangers to each other, forgetting the years apart. Forgetting the years apart still to come. “Don’t forget to visit.”

“We won’t,” Jack murmured, taking his bag from his aunt and hugging her just as roughly, flushing as his eyes gleamed. “Will we, Spence?”

_Never,_ Spencer said, standing and nodding his head. His next words were for Aaron alone. _I’ll look after him, Aaron. Promise._

“I know,” Hotch said quietly, and stepped back, watching the two figures walk slowly down the drive. “Good luck…” Not that Jack needed luck.

Not when he had Spencer.

**Author's Note:**

> **Edited October, 2017.**


End file.
